


Indulgence

by lsbnviking



Series: Ghosts That Shouldn't Be [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, Honorable Mention: Mind-Sarek is in here too, I made myself sad so now you all get to be sad too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lsbnviking/pseuds/lsbnviking
Summary: Michael Burnham is in prison for a mutiny that did nothing to change the outcome of engaging the Klingon Empire. All she has left to keep her sane is count out the days she has spent here, days where the truth of her failure is too much to escape.





	Indulgence

Counting down days was the only thing former Commander Michael Burnham of the United Federation of Planets had left to keep herself occupied. She had been allowed a simple writing instrument, an old one made of some sort of permanent ink. The walls of her cell were lined with precise, uniform tally marks, an indulgence allowed her as she had willingly admitted to the weight of her failure. Her wrist shook as she marked this day, a single vertical line barely longer than her fingernail. One more day further away from the source of her greatest shame. One day closer to a time when she wouldn’t have to face the weight of what her failure cost her, cost Starfleet, cost the galaxy.

 

She clenched her jaw, the strain of it centering her mind. It had been wandering too much of late, focusing in on events she would much rather compartmentalize into being forgotten. She knew she should have been faster, should have allowed logic to control her judgement, should have insisted she go in alone instead of bringing death and war to the Federation. Her mind need not remind her of that in every waking moment. She could feel Sarek’s guidance pulsing under her own sense of her mind-scape, not quite encouraging her to slip into a meditative trance to sort through her feelings. He was reminding her that she had the option, even if the proper vulcan technique wouldn’t fully work with her physiology.

 

 _It is imperative that you sort through your feelings, Michael,_ mind-Sarek said, standing in front of her much as he had when he revealed she carried part of his katra in her. _Your mind will not regain equilibrium until you do._

 

 _I am in control of my emotions,_ she replied, her eyes unfocused as she counted through the number of tally-marks once more.

 

 _You are ignoring them._ Mind-Sarek was calm, controlled as he spoke. _To be in control of them is to accept them as they are, acknowledge them, and deal with them. We taught you this, when you came to live with us._

 

Michael huffed, restarting her count. _I am in control._

 

 _The repetition implies you are not_. Mind-Sarek knew her far too well. _Avoidance is not logical._

 

 _What will be gained by this? No matter what I work through, there is nothing that can erase the past that came to be._ Michael didn’t allow the anger to color her speech, even if she could feel it rumbling beneath her skin. _I have already admitted my guilt._

 

 _And yet it has not settled. If you had truly processed this… feeling, it would not plague you._ He nudged again, more forcefully this time, and Michael exhaled deeply.

 

 _Prisons do not breed quiet minds,_ she said, even as she allowed herself to slip into a meditative trance. _I will make the attempt._

 

Sarek slipped out of her mind after that, leaving her to her meditations. She built the most serene place she could think of, recreating it with as much accuracy as she could. The smooth walls and reinforced floor of a commanding officer’s ready-room materialized around her mental body, looking very much like the one that had existed in the USS Shenzhou before hostilities with the Klingon Empire erupted. The walls shimmered, as though they couldn’t quite fit their dimensions, and then shifted.

 

The room before her was just as familiar as the ready-room, if in a more personal way. The sheets on the bed were still rumpled, clothing strewn about the floor. She opened one of her hands, staring down at the ID badge she’d been allowed to keep with her. It wasn’t there. She could feel it, in the hand that was connected to her physical body. The smooth metal edge dug into her palm, leaving an obvious pale line in her flesh. Here, in her mindscape, it had vanished.

 

She bent down to tidy up the things left on the floor, neatly folding the uniform attire so that it fit in the closet provided. Everything inside was perfectly arranged, just as it had been before… Well, before.

 

“You know you don’t have to clean up, Michael.”

 

The voice washed over Michael, like something out of the kind of dreams she had not indulged in since before she moved to Vulcan. “Philippa.” She couldn’t stop the word, the name, from escaping her lips in an exhale. Emotions were logical in such moments.

 

“Who else?”

 

Philippa Georgiou, her chest very much free of the mek'leth that had been embedded there the last time Michael saw her, stepped out of the lavatory attached to the quarters.

 

“ _T'hy'la._ ” Michael could feel the tears welling in the corner of her eyes. “I…”

 

Philippa smiled, and oh how Michael thought she’d never get to see it again. Even if this was a lie, a courtesy constructed by her own mind and informed by the solitude of prison, it was the greatest gift she’d ever received. One of her hands reached out, just far enough to feel the familiar give of Philippa’s skin. It felt real enough, even if logic dictated such a thing to be impossible. If remaining here forever meant that her physical body would waste away, it would be worth it. Sarek would understand, even if he didn’t approve. He’d do the same for Amanda, if it ever came to that.

 

“You’ve manifested me for a reason, Michael. Your subconscious has summoned me.” She sounded exactly like Philippa had, before the Klingons happened. Michael couldn't keep her hands from finding their proper place, two fingers gently running along Philippa’s. “Why am I here?”

 

“I regret it so much, _t'hy'la_. What happened to you, to everyone.” Michael couldn’t tear her gaze away, drinking in what would probably be the last time she allowed herself to gaze upon her most precious companion. “If only I had trusted in you, in Federation protocol. I would not have been stuck away from you when the Klingons behaved as they did.”

 

“Michael…”

 

“Please.” Emotion, mostly longing, tinged Michael’s voice, her mental body leaning further into Philippa’s space. “There is so much I could have done better. If I had been faster, stronger, smarter, this would not be all I have left of you.”

 

Philippa, or her manifestation, sighed heavily, her free hand moving up to brush some of Michael’s hair out of her eyes. “You don’t know that, not really.”

 

Michael collapsed, her body tipping forwards so that she was engulfed in Philippa’s arms. She smelled the same, exactly as she had the last time they’d allowed themselves to break protocol and regulations while on an away mission. The solidity of her body hadn’t changed, either.

 

“You can’t know that, Michael. Torturing yourself…”

 

“Keeps me sane, _t'hy'la._ I have nothing left.” Michael shifted so that she could rest her head on Philippa’s shoulder. “All there is for me to do is wait until I am no longer in this universe without you. Illogical, but my only option. My debt to you is greater than I will ever be able to repay.”

 

Philippa’s hands were sure on Michael’s shoulders, guiding her to the bed where they both now lay facing each other. Michael didn’t care that her eyes were burning from her stare. She would not allow herself to miss even the smallest fraction of a moment, not when she had Philippa back with her. Even if it wasn’t real, even if she could revisit this any time she liked within the comfort of her own mind, she could not bring herself to blink. Minds weren’t perfect, and soon this too would fade into the ether, leaving Michael with nothing more than the sense that there should be someone by her side, someone to whom she owed everything.

 

“There will never be enough words for me to truly express how I wronged you, Philippa. I could live and die a thousand lifetimes, learn every language there is to learn, and I would still have to throw myself at your feet and beg for your forgiveness, because I can never earn it.” Michael’s voice was little more than a whisper, curling into the atmosphere of this mindscape with little regard for how the walls of the room were crumbling away. “If only time travel were possible.”

 

This manifestation of Philippa, this one who felt far more real than she had any right to, smiled, her hands framing Michael’s jaw. “If I were with you in truth, I would accept.”

 

Michael shook her head just enough to get her point across. “I would not accept your acceptance. It would be unearned.”

**Author's Note:**

> Michael Burnham's song post-battle with the Klingons is Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time."
> 
> I hope I've gotten across just how connected these two were while Philippa still lived. Posted without anyone beta-ing because I HAVE FEELINGS AND SO YOU ALL NEED TO HAVE FEELINGS TOO.
> 
> This is just a one-shot for now, but I'll probably write more one-shots as episodes air, so I'm marking it as part of a series. The series title is basically how I think Michael feels post-s1e02.
> 
> ETA: Word of God says Captain Georgiou was stabbed with a mek'leth and not a d'k tagh, so I'm editing the work to reflect that.


End file.
